Sunday April 5th 2015

The wood breathed into quiet life as her presence filled the air. An ethereal thing as profound as it was nebulous. Creaks and groans that had been dead wood settling in the sun sounded like the greeting sounds of an old friend.

She was an avatar of life. People live in a dead world of stone, wood, and superficial realities. Elizabeth walked through a world of breathtaking life. Plants flushed with life, graced with her abundant energy, dead wood told tales of the trees they'd been, stone spoke of old mountains and lost times.

Cesare never heard the words, they weren’t for a thing of bitter darkness like him. Steeped in cruelty and naked malice, he'd never know the light she breathed into the world, but he could still feel it. The darkness knows the touch of the sun; death is intimately familiar with life. A burn along the edge of the senses, a threat in the air, a grace that savaged shadow.

Cesare was a survivor forged in death and cold. Jagged edges and shattered souled, he didn’t have a place in the sun with her. She wasn’t whole by any measure, but she'd never know the depths to the poison in his soul. He lusted for her warmth as much as he did her body.

Maybe it was best she'd never look at him the way he did her. Getting close to him meant seeing the cancerous thing he called a heart. There was no way a person like her could look at his diseased soul and feel anything but disgust. No, better she kept her distance and stayed a friend

He felt that life-giving aura burn against the dark umbra of his soul. May all the old gods forgive him, he yearned to be burned by her as much as he thirsted for her wet heat. She was the flame, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help dancing around it, waiting for it to set his wings on fire.

“What are you working on?” Elizabeth’s quiet words were a cool breeze soothing the agony tipped edges of his spirit.

His hands remained steady on the glass spheres he was working on. As big as the tip of his thumb, they were perfectly spherical with only a small hole in the top. Fitted into a special clamp, he slowly filled the beads with a clear solution piped through a labyrinth of glass tubing and beakers.

“Sodium hydroxide was a good start, but I need something lethal for Alexandra. More corrosive, meaner, deadlier, and that means special,” Cesare said, turning off the drip. Dabbing the sphere with gray putty, he sealed it up.

“Piranha Acid.” The words were description enough, a devouring never ending hunger. “Three parts sulfuric acid, one part hydrogen peroxide.” The bead he was working on followed its brother into a towel lined bowl of clear filled glass spheres. “I’ll stagger the ammunition in her weapons so every fourth one's filled with hydrogen peroxide.”

Uneasily, Elizabeth watched the casual way he handled the deadly liquid. “The vampires stronger than you give her credit for, this might be for nothing.”

“And if she isn’t, I get to watch something beautiful die, butchered by a bug without the decency to enjoy the kill.”

“You love her?” It was neutral, all emotion stripped away, the words barren and sterilized.

“You can’t look on a tiger and not love it for the purity of its being.” The soft words whispered into the air, soaked with feelings raw and primal. “Muscles rippling in every step, claws shaped perfectly for hooking prey, living in a world of meat. But it's more than its body that pulls at the heart. Untamed by civilization or compassion, an animal that takes what it wants without shame or guilt. In the world of the common, Alexandra's unique with a soul of shining, ebony madness.” Cesare's mind slipped down into the unknowable darkness of his soul.

“She'll never love me, not as anything more than an advantage or a challenge.” The hard truths swam before him, long and sinuous, gleaming with evil. “I’m useful, a tool in her crusade to bring Christianity to Primrose. A weapon against those that would see her fail. A safe harbor from her family that sees her as a weapon to throw into their never-ending war. I fill a need, like a good steak.” His words dropped into the ghost of a whisper. “But once your full, you see the steak for what it is, dead flesh rotting on the plate.”

He finished in silence as Elizabeth drifted away. He’d accepted the realities of life. Those hard truths that stared at him from the darkness like starving children, distended bellies, protruding ribs, and gaunt faces. You wanted to look away from the horrible reality bleaching the world of hope, but a part of you couldn't. It realized no matter the day to day joys, life was only a sea of sorrow that swallowed us all eventually.

The last ball made a quiet tinkle as it was set into the bowl. He’d need to make more, but this was a start. Taking the tubing and jars apart, he put his equipment away. The real danger was when you were cleaning up, long hours of concentration created a breeding ground for complacency, until you touched the wrong thing the wrong way.

Elizabeth slipped into the morbid silence with the ease of long practice, knowing his moods and the inner truths that ruled him. “We didn’t get as far as I wanted too yesterday, and I won’t have the grounds looking unkempt.” She started laying out the day, the dark tide of thoughts receding from his mind. Work, service, the desire to be needed, they were the barbed hooks that tore at his flesh as they pulled him from the viscous clinging melancholy.

Since the weather had changed, the campus was getting a lot of use and that meant a lot of damage. Trampled flowers, broken branches, worn patches of grass, and garbage were only the start. It added up to long hours of working bent over.

Yesterday they’d worked on the flower beds, getting the branches cut down to mulch stored in barrels behind the shed. The wood chips were used in the flower beds when they put them to sleep for the season. Elizabeth believed in the rules of the earth, everything destroyed went to feed something new.

Cesare had watched her anger mount at each piece of trash she’d seen. She couldn’t understand why the kids couldn’t use the garbage’s when they were only a few feet away. She hadn’t asked him to play garbage man. Even now, she kept her plans for the day away from the garbage detail she wanted done.

Walking to the wall, he picked up the belt with its hooks for the garbage bag. Slinging it around his hips he buckled it on with sure, simple movements. “You don’t have to do that; we could do it together or …”

Cesare cut her off gently without turning. “We both know we don’t have time for both of us to go around picking up garbage. It’s a grunt job for one person, that means it’s my job.” Taking up the garbage spike, he faced her with a smile. “I don’t have your touch with the green ones, so I’ll pick up garbage and meet you for lunch at the tree.”

It was easy to say, but they both knew it would be a gauntlet of degradation. While the student body had stopped insulting him to his face, that didn’t mean they didn’t enjoy trading insults behind his back. This would give them another angle to attack from, another way to humiliate him.

Sighing, she looked away from him, her quiet words filling the silence. “I don’t know if anyone will ever hate you more than you hate yourself.”

The insight pierced deep, slicing through the scar tissue shielding it from view. He knew why he did the things he did, knew the twisted diseased thing he called a heart. When hate was the only thing that kept you going, when pain the only reason to get up in the morning, you learned to never trust easy. Kindness was a poison that worked its way through the body, birthing pain as it fed on the best parts of your soul. Better the clean cut that bled and scarred.

It wasn’t that he liked hurting, but some part of him wasn’t comfortable without pain. Emotional, physical, or the soul deep agony of a broken heart, it called to him with familiar feelings of home. Maybe that was why he loved the women so much, there was never a shortage of pain with them. Did he crave that more than he did the gentle caress, the cold pain of a lacerated heart, the hot rush of blood as his soul tore open, did those terrible pleasures call to him more than gentle love ever could? He wasn’t sure and didn’t want to know.

Taking up the garbage bag and collection spike, Cesare didn't have the words to make either of them better. But she’d never expected any. She knew he was dark, lost inside his souls stygian depths, there was no saving him because he was right where he wanted to be. He was broken, a shattered soul with nothing and no one, but it was who he was.

Cesare had made it clear he didn’t want anyone’s pity or help. He’d die for what he believed in and live the life he wanted. It was the last and only thing that was his. He’d lost the dreams of his childhood, exchanged his innocence for money and food. But the crucible of torment left him with a handful of hot, gleaming, steel truths.

Cesare wandered the grounds, spiking cans of soda, lost papers, half eaten food and other things. It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies and a breeze that kept the worst of the heat off. It wasn’t long before Cesare came across groups of kids enjoying the day.

The first group was mixed with boys and girls, less than ten but more than a handful. Taking the day on the grass under the shade of a beautiful gnarled oak. They’d chosen to stay on campus and enjoy a lazy day in the sun with friends. Seeing him move toward them, they bumped each other until the group was grinning at him.

Whispers of malice and poison were traded under gleeful eyes. They laughed to themselves as he made his way unhurriedly over the area, picking up their garbage.

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel any shame, he’d had worse jobs for less pay. From a young age, he’d learned work had an honor all its own. A job paid money and doing a good job was something that spoke to the character of the man. A person didn’t do a good job for money, he did his best because every job reflected on who he was.

Moving away, he felt their eyes on him, the bitter truth that he'd never be one of them tightening around his mind. Fear was the bastard brother of respect. They’d follow his orders because they feared the pain he'd flay them with if they didn't.

Anastasia's presence instilled respect, they feared her power but loved her more, the two twisting together into a rope that bound them to her. Training from the cradle, a talent that was as manipulative as it was titanic, and the fey gifts of the Harab Serapel, made her supreme in owning others. But even if he had her gifts, he knew he’d never be able to do what she did. He could make men fear him as the devil he was, but they never liked him.

It was the same with the other groups he passed, the quiet of jackals spotting an injured spring buck, whispers rising like botflies from a corpse. Their eyes tracked him, gleaming sickly sweet with vindictiveness. A pariah's skin was a strange cloak, fear, disgust, ugliness of spirit and body, rotting across the body of the unwanted. He was unique in the school, a person as untouchable as he was reviled. Power usually bred admiration, but no one wanted his kind.

Following the bits of trash, he tuned out the groups, their faces blending together into the many heads of a child hydra. Hungry for his pain, longing to see him bleed from their cutting stares. Each of them wanted to push him down so they could stand that much higher. That’s what school was, a body of dead and decaying people scrambling to get above the others. No matter the rotting flesh that caked your fingernails or the swarms of flies, the screams of the hurt shunted aside in an insane desire to get higher, always higher.

“Sensei?” The word brought Cesare out of his thoughts as he looked into the eyes of Yoshisune. “Let me help.” The boy pushed a used candy wrapper into Cesare’s garbage bag, already looking for more to pick up. It was oddly touching, and stopped Cesare from noticing the group spread out on the ground behind the kid.

They were the type that clustered around Anastasia when he wasn’t around. The glitter kids, those with pedigree and money to burn. Their families had long ago paid for their dreams to come true, all they had to do was show up. Wearing the clothes that came from brands featured in luxury boutiques, they laid in the grass with the satisfaction of the entitled.

Rich and connected, they were small fries next to Anastasia. She was at the top of the food chain for money and influence, making her their natural leader. And she had what they didn’t, she was an akatharton. The glitter kids might be connected and rich, but none of them were fighters or from races feared by the things that skittered in the moon shadows.

“You should let him do his job.” A lean faced girl called from the grass, eyes running over Cesare with equal parts hunger and contempt. “He’s got all the equipment and stuff; it’s not like he needs your help.”

Yoshisune turned slowly to his friends. “No one asked him to be taken by the Hounds or for him to train me.” Raw with deep currents, the kids recoiled from the venom in his voice. “He’s never turned his back on me, no matter the shit I’ve gotten myself into. Maybe you don’t understand how rare it is to have someone help you when you're drowning, but I do.” The group shied away from the naked anger in the boy’s eyes, seeing the shadows of horrors they’d never had to face.

Turning away from them, the boy picked up the ground with Cesare. Looking at each other, the kids sighed, getting to their feet and making for the garbage to help their friend. Cesare passed out garbage bags, the kids accepting them with pained expressions.

They were more like a group of magpies, teasing, joking, and laughing about the disgusting things they found. It was far from the darkly quiet time he’d enjoyed before they’d joined him. The high pitched chatter was as unwelcome as the sun shining into your eyes after the blessings of the night.

“Not working out today?” While Yoshisune's friends kept just enough distance to show they weren’t with Cesare, the boy kept by Cesare’s side.

“We do the run and the workout in the morning, then break for a few hours before we get together. It gives us time to recuperate before we push ourselves again.” Hesitating, he continued quietly, “At first we were all puking our guts out after the run, I don’t think any of us were prepared for how hard it was to run that far. We learned quick you had to take it in chunks you could handle. The first time I made it without having to stop and lay down, I felt like I’d won the lottery.” Bending down, Yoshisune swiped a crumpled piece of paper off the grass.

“Are you going to train the Cherries next year?” Carefully looking out over the campus he kept his eyes off Cesare.

“Depends on if I’m still here.”

Shaking his head, Yoshisune kept his eyes away from Cesare. “What do you mean? I’ve seen the way you look at them. It’s the way an addict looks at a full needle, need, desire, and obsession threaded into a garrote around your neck. You’d never leave them.” The words were infused with a surety usually reserved for God.

Cesare had to give it to Yoshisune, he’d pegged him straight. Cesare wondered if it had been the streets that had sharpened the boy’s eyes until they cut through the light to the secrets that bled in the dark. “Nothing this side of death would pull me from their side.” Cesare confirmed softly, watching the boy’s shoulders tighten with realization.

“The queens.” The words were breathed with understanding. “You don’t think you can win?”

Spearing a half-eaten apple, Cesare slipped it into his bag. “If I was fighting something I could understand, I’d give myself better odds, but the queens are beyond me. They're the most alien thing I’ve ever fought. Stronger, faster, and naturally armored. Let’s just say, you don’t bet on the rabbit when the wolf gets its teeth into it.”

Yoshisune nodded in understanding, but his words were soft and sure. “I’ve seen killers, pimps, fighters, gutter cutters, and everything in-between. I’ve never seen a man stronger than you.”

Smiling, Cesare bent down for a candy wrapper. “Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Not that kind of strength,” Yoshisune said, his words slowing as he picked them over. “They shine with brutal strength, self-confidence, natural talent, and hard hours of training. They’re all winners and their strength comes from winning. Your strength is loss, it’s the darkness of the streets, the glittering smile of the child whore, the rusty knife in the night, and the addicts need. You shine with the diseased strength of cancer, malignant, evil, masterful in its hatefulness.”

Cesare's smile warped into something mean, a sharp, jagged thing of distilled cruelty. Maybe the kid had picked up more on the streets than Cesare had given him credit for. Yoshisune's words plucked at the violated strings of his heart, fat flabby fingers carelessly running across frayed thread.

The group deserted him by lunch, clustering around Yoshisune, eager to cash in the chips they'd earned for helping the leper. Some of them genuinely wanted to be Yoshisune's friend, but Cesare could only see the glittering greed in their eyes.